


look through to the water and into the sea (close your eyes and come away with me)

by exoskeletons



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Sexual Content, idk how to tag things help mee, this is silly and i am emotional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 17:00:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1274197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exoskeletons/pseuds/exoskeletons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time they fuck, it's like water spilling through your hands, desperately trying to hold onto it as it slips away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	look through to the water and into the sea (close your eyes and come away with me)

**Author's Note:**

> i'm just very emotional. title from the hunx and his punx song "blow me away" which is v ianmickey. i don't own anything.

The first time they fuck, it's like water spilling through your hands, desperately trying to hold onto it as it slips away. It's fast and rough and Ian's brain takes way longer than his dick to catch up, so he doesn't really know what happened until it's over and he's naked in Mickey Milkovich's bed. He watches the past ten minutes like a movie, watches himself suck Mickey Milkovich's cock, watches himself fuck Mickey Milkovich's ass, watches Mickey Milkovich, neighborhood thug, turn into a whimpering pool below him. Shit.

The next time they fuck, it's in a cold freezer in the back of a corner store and there are goosebumps on Mickey's ass and Ian tries to kiss his shoulder but gets his mouth pushed off. He bites him instead, hard, and Mickey moans and comes among cardboard boxes of orange soda and 2% milk. It's the only noise he makes the whole time, and Ian feels that Mickey- the Mickey who moaned- pulsing beneath his fingertips, but Mickey's built like a maze he can't make his way through just yet.

After that they start fucking all the time, Mickey coming into the store every couple of afternoons to get his ass pounded in the storeroom, Ian sneaking into his bed while he's hanging out with Mandy, and even though they don't talk Ian starts to feel like he knows Mickey Milkovitch, at least a little. He knows that even though Mickey looks dirty, he always smells nice- not, like, pussy cologne shit or anything, but toothpaste and deodorant and weed. He knows Mickey has a scar on his ribcage, and when Ian asks what it is while Mickey gets undressed in the back room, Mickey tells him to go fuck himself. But afterwards, while they pull on clothes all shaky and post orgasm, Mickey just says "One of my brothers, in a knife fight. Wasn't a big deal, we were both drunk. Laughed about it later," and Ian can hear the sadness in Mickey's voice, wants to hold him, wishes it wouldn't result in him getting beaten up or some shit.

He knows, now, that Mickey cries. Sometimes it's just because Ian pounds too hard or sucks too slow, drawing it out until Mickey is overstimulated and frustrated and teary. But sometimes, more and more, it's for real things. Like when they're on the baseball field, after hooking up, Mickey says quietly that his mom took him there, went to all his games and argued with the refs when they called him out. "Even when it was goddamn obvious that I was out, you know, blind guy coulda called it, she'd shout at em, tell em to go fuck themselves. It was funny, you know? Real funny," and Mickey turns his face and in the light Ian can see tears, sparkling like stars in his eyes, and he's never wanted anything more than he wants to kiss Mickey Milkovich in that moment. He doesn't, because Mickey still feels fragile to him, like a wild animal- one step too close and they run. But right then, with Mickey's sad eyes and his shaky hands lighting a cigarette and his messy hair all fucked up from Ian running his hands through it, Ian knows that he loves Mickey anyway. He knows it's shitty, knows it'll probably end badly, knows all of that but can't help thinking in the back of his head that it won't, that they'll make it, live happily ever after like all those shitty stories Debbie liked. He slides a hand over so his long fingers just cover Mickey's little hand and dirty nails all splayed out on the dugout fence. "Fuck you doing, Firecrotch?" said Mickey softly, but Ian knows he's not really mad- he has to say that, it's just his next line in the fucked up goddamn Shakespearian tragedy that was them. Ian doesn't move his hand, and they stay there, two boys smoking and almost holding hands in a Little League dugout under millions and millions of stars they couldn't even see.

They get closer. Mickey kisses Ian in a white van on a warm day, then gets shot in the ass. Mickey's dad finds out and there's blood and all Ian sees for days is the look in Mickey's eyes while a whore rides him hard.

The time Ian thinks will be their last fuck is a lot like the first- angry, fast, confusing. But it's also more real somehow, like Mickey hasn't had time to pull up his walls. Mickey kisses him, and Ian feels his stretched out heart start to beat again, wants Mickey like his dad clawing for a fix one of the many times he's had to sober up for Child Protective Services. He can't get close enough, can't kiss hard enough. They fuck face to face, Mickey up against the wall, and Ian watches him come. Mickey's beautiful and fucked up and sweaty, and Ian wants everything from him, and he thinks that's what he's being offered, understanding the kisses and the little gasps to mean I love you, I choose you, I want you.

Then Mickey's pulling away, telling him to wait an hour so he can fucking get married and then they can go again, like Ian's just a fuck in a freezer, like they didn't become more than that years ago, and he thinks that Mickey's a fucking coward, that he jumped for him and Mickey didn't catch him, that Mickey can't fucking admit that Ian could be the goddamn love of his life, and Ian's angry, so angry that he's seeing red. Later he'll wish he'd understood that "not everyone gets to blurt out how they fucking feel all the time" means I love you, take me, I'm yours, in the infuriating perfect fucking goddamn language of Mickey Milkovich, but right then he doesn't and he gets wasted, burning his throat with vodka and feeling it in his stomach when he drinks too fast, letting his arms and legs become wobbly, shaky, his whole brain getting clouded, trying to mute the angry shrieking voices in his head. I love you. I hate you. Fuck you, fuck me. 

Then Ian leaves, leaves because he can't look Mickey in the eyes anymore, can't stand behind the counter without imagining Mickey turning the closed sign out and looking towards the back room, can't even leave the house without feeling like puking because Mickey left him. He joins the army and realizes that trying to be a soldier when you're struggling to get out of bed is a shitty idea, and trying to be a soldier when your whole body becomes a live wire and you can't stop your heart from beating like a hummingbird's is a worse one. He falls apart, thinks about going home but can't face his family like this, can't face Mandy like this, can't face Mickey like this. Can't face himself like this, and he knows that they'll make him, so he goes places where they won't- fucks Ned, gets high with Monica. Everyone leaves him or kicks him out, and he falls further and further away until he's just a balloon full of glitter and coke and old men's come, falling into the clouds.

When Mickey comes to get him, it's like a tug on his string. It hurts, but he remembers he's connected to the ground. When Mickey comes to get him, it's like a raw old wound being reopened and a soft tender stupid kiss all at once, and Ian didn't think he could feel that shit anymore. 

The next time they fuck is later, and Ian's washed off his eyeliner and he feels a little bit more whole, and Mickey whispers his name softly in his ear, his real name- Ian, not Gallagher or Firecrotch. It's just two syllables but it sounds like a prayer, like it's not something Fiona yells when he leaves dirty laundry in the bathroom but something secret and sacred and intimate that only Mickey knows. It's quiet, and sweet, and they kiss and hold each other tight, and all Ian has is Mickey's breath in his lungs, Mickey's lips brushing against everywhere on his body, MickeyMickeyMickey coming out of his mouth. He loves him. He loves him, and suddenly Ian sees a long string of fucks with Mickey stretching out into forever, rushed ones in public bathrooms where Mickey bites his forearm to stifle his moans and slow ones on Sunday mornings, where Ian makes pancakes and they spend the day in bed and oh god, he loves Mickey Milkovich.

After they're done and Ian's rolled off Mickey to lie next to him, there's a quiet, and then:

"I missed you." And before that would have pissed Ian off- you missed me? That's all? But now he knows what Mickey's saying. He speaks the language, finally. So he snuggles in close and whispers in his ear, "I love you too."

 


End file.
